Room

"Well, what do you think?" my wife asked, proudly showing me the redecorated room in on the third floor off the walk-up attic, what would have been a servant's room when our home was first built.

"I...I don't understand," I said, "what...what's this for?"

"For you, silly."

"For...for me?"

She looked down, just for a second, like she was working up the courage to say what she wanted to say. "If he's going to be spending the night more than just on a rare occasion, it seems like he shouldn't feel like he's an intruder, and, well, feel like he can leave some things...you know how men are..."

I blushed, felt self-conscious of how I was dressed, feminine from head to toe. "I'm supposed to stay up here when he's here?" I asked.

She looked down again. "I was thinking something more permanent, love, like making this your room."

"You want me to move into a servant's room?" I asked.

"I just thought...this should be, well, the normal."

It dawned on me. "You...you want me to be your maid?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I mean, I think...I guess...yes," she said. "Listen, I know we'll need to buy some more things, you should have several uniforms if you're serving full time, and we'll have to expand your undergarment collection if we're tossing out your male things, but...I think this will be better for all of us."